The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #174257   Message #4227018
Posted By: Charley Noble
11-Aug-25 - 03:47 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Add: Master, The Swabber, The Boatswain & I
Subject: Lyr Add: Master, The Swabber, The Boatswain & I
This was a top hit in the first production of The Tempest" by William Shakespeare in 1611. I've done some editing and added refrains and a new verse but the original lyrics are also posted:

From The Tempest by William Shakespeare, as sung by Stephano, 1611
Adapted by Charlie Ipcar, 7/31/2025; tune after "The Mariner's Compass is Grog"
Key: G (7/C)

The Master, The Swabber, The Bosun, And I

C----------------------------------G7
The master, the swabber, the bosun, and I,
------C--------------------F---C--G
The gunner, the cook, and the mate,
---------C-----------------------G7
Loved Molly, and Meg, and Margery,
-------C----------G----------C
But none of us cared for Kate.

C------------------------F---------C
None of us cared for Kate, me lads!
--------F-C---------F/C-G
None of us cared for Kate!
---------C-----------------------G7
Loved Molly, and Meg, and Margery,
-------C----------G----------C
But none of us cared for Kate.

Kate loved not the savour of tar nor pitch;
And she had a tongue with a tang;
Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch,
But she'd cry to a sailor, "Go hang!"

She'd cry to a sailor, "Go hang!" me lads!
She'd cry to a sailor, "Go hang!"
Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch,
But she'd cry to a sailor, "Go hang!"

So Molly, and Meg, and Margery,
We’re off to sea once more;
And it will be a long, long time
Till we return to your shore.

Till we return to your shore, me loves,
Till we return to your shore;
And it will be a long, long time
Till we return to your shore.

Original Lyrics:

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
    The gunner, and his mate,
Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
    But none of us cared for Kate;
    For she has a tongue with a tang,
    Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch;
Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.

    Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

Cheerily,
Charlie Ipcar